


like music, you are a part of me

by orphan_account



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blind Character, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-02-26 12:41:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2652422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wu Yifan was practically born knowing the cello; it was no surprise to anyone, but himself, when he was offered a place at one of the most prestigious performing arts universities in the country, despite his disability.</p><p>Lu Han was the same, though not with a cello, his voice and later guitar; in his youth there were rarely times of silence. It had been harder for him to get into the school, but midyear there was opening that he'd have been stupid to rejected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like music, you are a part of me

**Author's Note:**

> I would suggest listening to [cello music](http://soundcloud.com/saratology-2/sets/tchaikovsky-mozart-haydn-bach) as you read, I think it will benefit you even if you do not normally listen to cello. 
> 
>  
> 
> **All cello terms are defined in the end notes.**

Wu Yifan had practically been born knowing the cello, knowing the smoothness of the wood against his palm, the strings beneath his fingertips and bow in his hand. From the first time he heard it, he knew he to had to play. And he did, when he was only six he sat behind the huge instrument, someone holding it up for him as he pressed the strings gently and experimentally pulled the bow across them.  

Even not being able to see, he played and played until his soft fingertips had calluses, toughening them to the rough strings of the instrument. When he played he would grin widely, listening to the less than elegant noise and push himself to imitate the same sounds he heard in songs.   

Later, when he finally began learning from a teacher, he was praised and labeled as a prodigy. Life was hard for him, he always had to worry about what was ahead in the next step, around the corner, but as soon as a bow was placed in his hand, he had nothing to worry about because, even if he couldn't see it, he knew the cello. In his heart and soul, the cello was a part of him.  

It surprised no one, except maybe Yifan himself, when he was offered a scholarship at one of the most prestigious performing art universities in the country. His family had assured him they would make it just fine, so he left for school. Deeply rooted nervousness had settled in his gut as he worried about what was ahead.

But two years later, his nervousness had melted away. No longer did he fear being cast out or treated differently because of his inability to see. Although this was mostly because he made no attempt at making any friends. He was much too busy anyway; each day he had several lectures to attend, he had to practice alone and with the symphony, and he would have assignments to do.

There merely was no time, nor did he possess the patience to deal with others who would surely only shelter him and try to constantly protect him as if he were newly blinded.  

He felt relieved when his roommate suddenly left just before the end of the year; there would no longer be anyone to moan to him about their terrible hangover, as if he cared, or to try and baby him when he bumped into something left in the way. Of course, he thought, as it was midyear, no one would come in to fill his place. 

His family noticed the happy change in him when he visited for the holidays. They questioned and he answered truthfully, beaming ahead, not knowing of the frown on his mother's face. He had always been so alone and still wanted to be, she worried for him, but didn't say anything.  

When he returned, no one informed him of his new roommate, so without any knowledge of him, he returned to his normal room and opened the already unlocked door. That alone was enough to make him feel some panic. He almost jumped when he heard movement in the room. But, instead, he remained levelheaded, and he walked in and placed his things down on his bed before turning to the source of the noise. Whoever was here was obviously unperturbed by his presence.  

"Who are you?" He asks, not bothering to be polite to the person that was invading his living space.

"I'm your new roommate, Lu Han." A male voice says cheerfully, and Yifan can hear someone shifting around, walking closer and he assumes that he stepped closer to bow.

Yifan almost groans aloud, but he somehow manages to refrain from vocalizing his annoyance. He hurriedly introduces himself, bowing forward carefully. Before he can say anything else, he turns around, hoping that it's clear he doesn't want to speak to him anymore than he already had.

He wants to question him, wants to ask him what he even does, but he doesn't and only silently hopes he isn't one of those pretentious actors that believe the world should revolve around them alone.  

To further avoid speaking more with his roommate, he lifts his cello case and walks to the door, carefully measuring and counting his steps. His hand is on the doorknob, and he already has it turned, when the other asks where he's going, curiosity in his tone. He honestly can't hold back the sigh that comes from him. "I have to practice."  

"Already? You only just got in."  

"I know when I arrived, thank you for reminding me. And, yes, already, I have exhibitions coming up." He says shortly and he receives no reply. Behind him, Lu Han stands shocked and can't find the words to reply so he only returns to unpacking silently.   

As he walks he's thinking of what he will play. He can think of the chords in his head, the sound, already, he can imagine the feel of the strings under his fingertips and the bow in his hand. The tempo of the music in his head matches the pace he walks, andante, helping him to remember each turn and curve until he stands on the auditorium stage.

He sits and moves slowly as he lifts his cello from the case, reaching for the bow after he had it settled upright. With a gentle touch, he settles his hand around the neck, feeling the smooth wood in his palm as he slides it up and then down twice. He presses his fingertips to the strings, feeling the roughness of them, but it didn't hurt when he pressed down on them faintly. Anticipating the sound, he draws the bow across them, reveling in what he brings from it.

Each switch makes him smile wider, the tempo being set slow, but not too much so. In his head, he notes the changes; it starts like his walking, andante, and gradually builds faster, accelerando, until he is playing allegro. It is a beautifully rich sound and it steals Yifan's breath from his chest. Though his happiness remains, his smile tightens when his pace quickens; concentration hardens his expression. He closes his eyes as if wanting to block out the surroundings that he couldn't see. As his strokes of the bow over the strings grew more agitated, his heart rate quickened and breathing deepened.  

Appassionato, is how he plays, completely lost in the music that simply flows from him. Amore, is how he touches and caresses the cello, strongly but gently like a lover. Fuoco, is what he feels, hot and strong in his chest, scorching his heart and soul in a sweeter way that he had ever felt before.  

Every chord seeps into his bones and he feels the tension slowly uncoiling, leaving his being. And, suddenly, he is at peace, no longer annoyed because of his new roommate. He pulls himself together again, binding the seams in tight knots. He wouldn't allow himself to show any annoyance.

The music slowly descends in pace, returning a tempo at andante. It continues to gently fade slower, adagio, then larghetto, until finally the sound is as slow as Yifan can make it, largo. His smile returns as he drags out the final chord, the sound deep and low, echoing through the empty auditorium until it had dissipated into the air.

He wondered how late it was, how long he had been playing. It would probably be nightfall soon, not that Yifan could tell, but he knew that he should probably return to his dorm, maybe apologize for his earlier rudeness.   

This is how it had always been, he realized as he hummed quietly and put his cello back into the case. The cello had always been more important than everything except his family. It had kept him from making friends, along with his lack of sight. But he wasn't lonely, as long as he had a cello he would not need anything else.

 

 

Sonorous guitar played as he entered his dorm. It was acoustic and the music flowed seamlessly.

"You play guitar?" He asks, showing faint curiosity in his tone. It was worth knowing.   

"Yes, that's actually why I'm here. I have a band, I'm lead guitar and singer." The smile was audible, he was obviously over excited. A sudden urge nagged Yifan to get on his knees and praise every deity he could think of for not making him have to share a room with an aspiring actor. He refrained and slid his feet along the floor as he walked to be sure he didn't fall over any unseen object.

"And you play the cello?"  

Yifan snorted unattractively, "Obviously."  

Nothing more was said after that. Yifan placed his cello safely aside and began putting his things away, feeling the small braille tags with his thumb. He could hear Lu Han moving behind him, so he tried to stay as far from him as possible to keep from bumping into him.   

"Are you any good?" It hung in the air for a short time. He couldn't help but laugh quietly, someone was actually asking if he was any good, though he assumed he shocked most by being a blind cello prodigy. Yifan waited until he was finished putting away all his things to turn to face Lu Han, smirk already present.   

"I'm a prodigy, I assume so. But there are better players, I'm not good enough yet, that's why I must spend a lot of time practicing." Yifan answers. There's more shifting and the rustle of fabric; he guessed that he was putting something away and didn't move, only sat back on his bed.

There is a hum and he raises his head to acknowledge having heard it, his attention drawn away just before he entered a world entirely of only his own. "Do you mind not staring at me like that?"

"Excuse me?" He asks and he raises his brow. Hysterical laughter threatens the break the calm surface, but he doesn't let it show.

"I know we're both men, but I feel a little uncomfortable with you... eying my ass like that." He says, pausing faintly and making it harder for Yifan to hold back his laughter. Though there is barely a pause before he is rushing to continue, "It's fine if you're into guys, I am too, but–"  

"I'm blind, not gay." He says, brows furrowed; he hopes he looks menacing. The look melts away when he hears laughter that he can't quite decipher between genuine or forced. It finally ceases, tapering off awkwardly.

"I'm sorry, I'm just embarrassed. I- it must be hard." He stammers and Yifan shakes his head.

"I was born too early, doctors gave me too much oxygen. Really, I was only able to see for a few minutes, and only in black and white."

Lu Han doesn't make any noise and then rushes out 'oh', Yifan guesses that he nodded until remembering. And then he's moving again, across the room, and he mentions showering before Yifan hears the door close and water run.

 

 

It turns out that Lu Han isn't actually that bad. At night, he practices acoustic, playing while Yifan lays in bed working on his essays. He is oddly funny, making stupid jokes that are merely so lame they force Yifan to laugh. And he doesn't worry about Yifan; he once tripped over a pair of shoes that were left in the way and Lu Han came to retrieve his shoes, only asking if he was alright as he stood up from the floor.

Yifan suddenly found himself wanting to spend time with the other man, enjoying his company with grins that had only been present when he received the rush of pride after a well done recital.

His only fault is being weak to party invitations, though he knows the reason is to gain popularity with his band. The nights he isn't in the dorm leave Yifan feeling lonely. But the quiet isn't so bad; he listens to he greats of composing Bach, Tchaikovsky, and Beethoven and writes his essays just as easily as when Lu Han is across the room playing his guitar.

That's how he feels the night before their friendship begins to go downhill. Lu Han had excitedly packed up his guitar and told him not to worry about him, which was easy, he didn't worry just got lonely.

After typing until his fingertips were numb, he laid back in bed and sighed heavily setting aside the refreshable braille and his laptop. This would be the part of the night that he would sit and listen to Lu Han play. Sometimes they talk when the playing ceases, mostly about missing home, their family. Tonight, it's empty and Yifan merely rolls into his side and pulls the blanket up over himself.

 

 

Later, when Lu Han came back, reeking of alcohol, Yifan was in a deep sleep, deaf to his clamoring; he didn't hear him stumble into the wall, didn't hear his clothing hit the floor as he tossed it away from himself. Yifan was too lost in his dreaming to feel Lu Han climb into bed and push himself close to his body.  

It was a shock the next morning to wake up next to a warm body that he certainly hadn't fallen asleep next to. Panic settled in for a split second, but he didn't move, he didn't physically panic, only tried to think of a plausible reason for another person to be in his bed. There were few options and he was truly scared when he began considering them.   

Yifan reached out and pressed his hand against what he realized was a person's bare hip. It was warm, the jut of the bone was soft and delicate as was the skin there. He bit into his bottom lip and rubbed his fingers in circles over the bone, but that was as far as he touched.   

Part of him screamed for him to get out of the bed, but he was too lost in the depths of his mind and in the feel of the soft and warm skin beneath his fingertips to respond. Before, he hadn't really focused on those of the opposite sex, with the exception of his mother and that girlfriend that he had for two months in his second year of high school. And, with that girlfriend, he received nothing more than a kiss on the cheek that was brief and still left her giggling like crazy.   

The body beneath his touched fidgeted and he froze, fingertips still touching their hip. A small hand caught his and dragged it to the inside of their thigh. His lungs suddenly couldn't fill with enough air, but he didn't recoil from the gentle touch urging him on.   

They controlled his hand, making him slide his wide palm over the insides of their thighs before bringing it up.

His heart stopped. It actually stopped, froze in his chest for far too many beats as he was made to wrap his fingers around another man's cock. He opened his mouth to speak, to order him to stop, but before he could say anything a moan cut him off.

Blinking rapidly, he tried to make sense of the scenario that he was currently playing a part in. It suddenly hit him who was in his bed and he tensed fully, feeling his face turn hot. As he did, his grip tightened and a desperate pitched moan came from, who he assumed was, Lu Han.

And, all too quickly, Lu Han pushed his hand away and tossed a leg over his waist. The weight of a half-asleep person bared down on his hips, soft hands gripped his shoulders. He was struck dumb and could do nothing as Lu Han rocked his hips faintly against his own. He was suddenly thankful that he was blind, that way he couldn't see Lu Han's face when he realized that his bed partner was not just a stranger that he'd brought back to the dorm.  

There was a soft gasp and the gentle rocking of Lu Han's hips stopped, he froze and Yifan guessed that he had finally become awake to realize. He opened his mouth and searched frantically through his mind for words that he was having trouble finding. "I... I have an early practice. Please get off of me."

Lu Han doesn't move immediately and Yifan wonders if Lu Han has truly made a mistake. Eventually though, he hurries off of Yifan and stumbles to his bed, rushing to his side of the room and dig around for clothes.

There are no words and Yifan escapes into the washroom and dresses as quickly as he can, but he is slowed as he tries not to miss any of the buttons to save himself from further embarrassment. He carefully walks across the room and lifts up his cello as Lu Han is beginning to speak and he leaves the dorm, slamming the door hard.

In his mind the beat is not andante, as usual, it is presto, fast and hurried. Previously, his thoughts had been frozen, but they were slowly beginning to melt and rush through his mind all at once. The strong walls that kept him safely hidden from emotions were beginning to break, crumbling and falling in slow motion to fast paced music.   

Yifan knew that the conductor would be in the auditorium already, it hadn't been a lie that he had practice, though it wasn't as early as he let Lu Han believe. The man greeted him happily when he entered. Without a word, Yifan sat and set his cello before himself to play; his hand was tight on the bow, but his grip around the neck was loose, his fingers gently brushed the strings.  

His playing was fast from the start, his eyes closed. His inner conflict weighed down on him heavily and was able to heard through his playing. Excitement thrummed through his being, setting his body aflame in the sweetest and sharpest of ways, one that he had craved since being young.

Allegro, he noted just before pushing himself to play faster, presto. It didn't start slow and then rise, it rushed straight in and he was suddenly unaware of the scuffling of feet as other players made their way onto the stage. Blood pulses in his ears, in the tips of his fingers, the thrum grew and then died down, slowing faintly.  

He looked ahead with concentration, pace of his music not waning but only continuing. Pushing back each rampant emotion, he steadily built the walls back up and when he felt that he was fully in control of himself again, the music stopped abruptly.

He wonders if anyone is staring at him, they probably and they are probably wide eyed, wondering what had him play in with such fervor. None of them would ever know, with them he only spoke the language of music and he stretched out his bow arm, letting some of the tenseness out before becoming poised to play again.

 

 

They don't talk for a while. Or rather, Lu Han tries to talk, opens with an apology each time and Yifan would settle his headphones over his ears and turn on any music as long as he didn't have to speak to him.

Though he isn't really angry at Lu Han, more at himself.

Despite his efforts to keep those walls strong, a crack appeared in one and he could not refrain from indulging in thoughts of Lu Han. He couldn't stop thinking about the soft flesh of his abdomen, of his hips, his inner thigh. And he frequented the memory of Lu Han's cock in his palm, how it felt and the soft sighs and moans he breathed at the touch.

Yifan ignored it, knowing that it would go away, knowing that it was only confusion because the strange turn of events because he knew that he was not attracted to men. But then, did he really know, he hadn't touched another man just as he had never touched a woman.

The thoughts trouble him, the doubts in himself made him feel like he was no longer in control of the situation. Some nights he lay awake, listening to the sound of Lu Han snoring softly, thinking deeply. It probably does more damage to him than good.

 

 

It's three weeks after the incident that Yifan accepts Lu Han's apology, he doesn't smile as he once had talking to the other man. He believes fully the thoughts will disappear, their consciences were no longer burdened.

But he had never been more wrong, Lu Han begins talking to him again, playing his guitar at night and venting his stresses. Yifan finds himself wanting to be nearer to him, pressed against him as they had been that morning; warmth radiating from body to body, sharing breaths, touches. Yet he also wants to be as far away from him as he can get.

"Yifan, are you alright?" Lu Han asks and Yifan wants to stand and cross the room and shout that he hasn't been alright since he woke up with Lu Han naked in his bed. But he smiles softly, teeth barely showing, but it's more of a smile than he's shown in weeks.

"I'm fine. I have a recital soon, just thinking about it." Even to himself, his voice sounds far away. He hopes Lu Han doesn't notice, but even if he does he says nothing. There's nothing for a while and then Lu Han asks, "How do you remember all the chords without seeing sheet music?"

"Muscle memory, continuous practice, keep the song on replay." He mutters, rolling onto his back.

"Oh." And there's silence again. Yifan wants to ask him to speak again, to sing for him, anything. But he rebels against himself and listens closely as Lu Han mutters goodnight through a yawn, before the light switch clicks.

Unlike Lu Han, Yifan lays awake not knowing what to do.

 

 

Yifan drags the bow across the strings slowly, setting the low tone in the music, leading the others. Violins follow, shrill and sweet, shaking softly with vibrato. Piano is low in the background, filling in the space between the deep and pitched sounds. He's lost in the music, and in thoughts of Lu Han.

The music quickens from their previous slow pace, the music has cheer in it now instead of the sad tones from before. And Yifan plays perfect as always, fingers gliding through the shifts, bow moving evenly over the chords. 

In that moment something in him clicks, he knows what he wants even if there is some doubt still lingering. He knows that he wants to figure these feelings out and the only way to do that is to bravely face them.

He goes to draw his bow over the chords again, but he realizes that, instead of assisting him in making beautiful music, it's falling from his hand. The clang it creates echoes and it makes him jump, the abrupt stop in the music not helping any. Someone beside him picks the bow up from the floor and presses it back into his hand.

"I think I should practice more alone before practicing with the symphony. I will only drag them down because my head is in the clouds today. If it keeps me from performing in the next exhibition, so be it, but I don't want to burden the others by playing poorly." He says and carefully lowers his cello into it's case, leaving the stage before he's been properly excused.

The walk to the dorm seems shorter than usual or maybe it felt that way because of his lengthy strides that carried him there in no time.

And then he's there, in front of the door, his hand wavering just in front of the doorknob as worry drenches him. Through the door, he can hear Lu Han playing the guitar, singing very quietly. His throat feels tight and he's not even sure if he'll be able to speak to Lu Han once he's inside.

 "Yifan." He hears as soon as he opens the door and he swallows in attempt to loosen his throat. "What are you doing back so early?"

His heart beats wildly inside his chest, his thoughts slow to a stop and his mind clears. There are twelve full strides to his bed, he leaves his cello there. To get to Lu Han, he turns and takes four steps to the middle of the room and motions him over, voice soft as he calls him, "Come here." 

"What is it?" Lu Han's voice is soft as his was, confusion lacing the words, and it's accompanied by the sound of shifting. Lu Han sets his guitar aside, Yifan can hear each move the other man makes and the sound of his own racing heart; it only becomes worse when Lu Han walks over and he questions him again.

Yifan moves closer to him and raises his hands, until finding his shoulders and he traces up along his neck, cradles his jaw when he reaches it. A grin tugs at the corners of his lips, but he doesn't give in to it. With a soft touch, he slides his thumbs down from Lu Han's hairline, across the line of his brow bone, mapping out his face slowly.  

"What are you–" Lu Han starts, but Yifan shushes him, expression turning steely. So he doesn't say anything else and closes his eyes as Yifan slides the rough pads of his thumbs over his eyelids, draws down his cheeks. Before touching his lips, he pauses, rubs his thumbs along the corners.

"Will you kiss me?"   

The whisper lingers for some time; Yifan hears Lu Han choke on his breath in shock. Eventually Lu Han nods and he holds Yifan's sides awkwardly as he is brought forward for a slow kiss.

Yifan was partially sure that he was going to miss his lips, despite his thumbs resting in the corners of his mouth. But softly and slowly, their lips pressed gently together and Yifan moved a hand to hold the back of Lu Han's neck, fingers teasing into his hair.

And now he has no doubt, this is what he wants; Lu Han soft and warm against his chest, making him dip down sharply for a kiss, his hands tangled in his shirt, he wants to wake each morning with the smaller man at his side, hard against him like the first time, wants to curl around him and sleep with every night without wondering if he would be there in the morning.

"I want you." Yifan whispers. Lu Han pulls Yifan's hand away from his jaw and he presses his fingers against his smile.

"Okay." He whispers in reply.

**Author's Note:**

> Accelerando: Accelerate or gradually increase the tempo or speed of the music.
> 
> Adagio: A slow, leisurely tempo, often considered to be slower than andante, but not quite as slow as largo.
> 
> Allegro: A quick, lively and brisk tempo (not quite as fast as presto).
> 
> Amore: Play with love, lovingly.
> 
> Andante: A moderately slow tempo. Often considered to be a walking speed.
> 
> Appassionato: Play passionately, or with intense emotion and feeling.
> 
> A Tempo: "In tempo," meaning return to the original tempo or speed. Often used after some variation in the tempo.
> 
> Fuoco: "Fire" meaning, play with fire in a fiery, spirited manner.
> 
> Larghetto: Slightly faster than largo, with a similarly broad, large and stately tempo and style. 
> 
> Largo: A broad, slow tempo that is dignified and stately in style. Largo is the slowest of tempo markings.
> 
> Presto: A fast, rapid and lively tempo, faster than allegro.


End file.
